


Very Special Artists at Work

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ups and downs of being a Special Artist (or Agent) at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Special Agent Timothy McGee poked his head anxiously round the door leading into the largest conference room at NCIS headquarters. The room was often used for agency wide seminars and award ceremonies but today it was the scene of the first Annual NCIS Art Exhibition. The contest was to be judged anonymously and the entrants had been given ten minute time slots in which to bring their exhibits in without being seen.  
It was 14.32 and, therefore, Tim's turn. Other people had been in before but, as Tim entered the room, he couldn't see any other offerings on display. Dr Rachel Cranston appeared from behind a screen at the end of the room and held out her hand – she had been chosen as the person to receive the entries as she had taken the Hippocratic oath of confidentiality and was also felt to be above taking part in the various pools and bets which had swept NCIS since the competition was announced.

She smiled a professional smile at Tim and cast an appraising look at what he placed in her hand.

“Name?”

“Timothy McGee”.

“It's a self-portrait?”

Tim shook his head frantically. “No, no ... my name is Ti ... but you know that, don't you. The er.. picture ...um... entry is called ... you know, I didn't know I had to give it a title. B..but that's not its name either.”

“I'll call it 'untitled' then, shall I?” Dr Cranston took pity on Tim. Apart from anything else he had already used up eight of his allotted minutes. He nodded gratefully and left the room and made his way back to his desk in the bullpen. Tony, Ziva and Abby were already there having already made their 'deposits'. Not for the first time McGee wished he had been somewhere else on that fateful day ... doing something more pleasant, perhaps being struck down with stomach flu or practising self-defence with Ziva.

Flashback:

Gibbs swept into the bull pen and flung pieces of paper on the desks of his agents.

“Art competition next week in aid of NCIS Benevolent Fund. $20 to enter ... fill the entry forms in.”

Tony had opened his mouth to speak, already with an apologetic look on his face. Gibbs stared at him with his head slightly to one side. Tony shut his mouth and pulled out his pen,

“Filling in the form, Boss.”

Ziva began to wave her hand in one of her exotic gestures and also opened her mouth to speak. Gibbs turned his glare towards her. She also closed her mouth and picked up a pen.

“Of course.”

Gibbs turned his eyes towards McGee – who was already filling out the form. Gibbs smiled slightly and jerked his head back. Sometimes his job was FUN!

Present day.

Ducky had called it a 'three line whip'. Apparently it was something from the British Parliament which meant that all members of parliament were required to vote even if they didn't want to or were in the process of dying. Somehow Gibbs had invented an American version which required all members of his team to take part in the competition. That was why there so many people waiting outside the conference room/art gallery to see where their exhibits had been placed.  
McGee was a bit late – he had been absorbed in defragging Gibbs' computer and hadn't noticed the time. When the program finished he felt a wave of satisfaction for a job well done which would, hopefully, mean that Gibbs would no longer feel the need to take a baseball bat to his innocent machine. The well-remembered sound of wood against plastic still sent a shiver through McGee. Now he looked up and saw that the office was deserted. He shot out of his seat and raced up the stairs to the conference room.

As he went in he spotted Tony standing in front of a picture and saw him lean forward to adjust its position slightly and then stand back with his head on one side as he considered the adjustment he had made. McGee took a moment to look at the picture and then blinked; perhaps his eyes were tired from looking at the computer screen. He rubbed them and looked again. He drew near to Tony in horror.

“Tony, have you gone mad?”

Tony looked round with a look of surprise.

“McRenoir, what's got your paint brushes in a bristle?”

Tim waved a hand at the picture. 'Abstract' would be a kind word for it – swirls of purple, orange, grey and luminous pink sprawled across the enormous canvas and met in a vortex of blacks and murky greens in the centre.

“It's awful,”spluttered McGee, “it looks like a child did it ... a child with a bag over its head. And that stupid title 'A vOiD 4'. What does that mean?”

“Well,” said Tony calmly, “I guess it's the fourth in a series of voids. And the kid can't have had a bag over its head – the lines are very neatly painted. I thought it had something about it”.

“Gibbs is going to head slap you into next week when he sees it. He's taken this very seriously and you ... you've just made a joke out of it.”

“You're the one who let a computer program make doodles and then just printed it out. Not sure that will meet the Boss's brief' came Tony's riposte.

“How do you know that?” asked Tim in a worried voice. He looked at Tony and one glance at the smug expression on his face told him that Tony had been guessing and he had been suckered again. Tim gathered his dignity around him like a tattered painter's smock and tried a comeback,

“Well, I am going now and I suggest you 'a void' Gibbs forever.”

He backed away and bumped into Director Vance who had come to stand behind them. The Director looked at Tim a bit more coolly than normal.

“Special Agent McGee, have you got something to say about this picture?”

Tim was loyal to his co-workers and bravely shook his head. He wouldn't drop DiNozzo into any more trouble than he was already in.

“No, Sir, no. I was just saying how colourful it was. I ...I'm going to go and look at the other ... um, I'm going now.”

Director Vance nodded and moved to stand behind DiNozzo.

“So, Special Agent DiNozzo, perhaps you could explain the meaning of this painting?”

McGee looked back and saw the two men still positioned in front of the picture. As he watched, he saw Tony give a respectful nod to the Director and then, he was sure he saw him wink at Vance. Tim decided to calm himself down by going round to look at the other exhibits. 'Carotid catastrophe', a large photograph in various shades of red and black did nothing to soothe him. Now, at least, he knew what Abby had been working so hard on.

He saw Jimmy Palmer standing in front of a picture. He looked at it closely. It looked like a painting by numbers kit from a craft store but the colours surely weren't those suggested by the manufacturer. What he assumed was the sky seemed to be green and the trees were red and the numbers were showing through. Jimmy looked miserable.

“Is this yours, Palmer?” asked McGee. Jimmy nodded,

“I'm colour blind and I got the numbers mixed up. Breena wasn't home when I started and I was in a hurry so couldn't check with her. And by the time she got home, it was too late. She did give me the title though”. McGee peered at the name,

“’Colour blind confusion’”. Well, perhaps McGee's chances of winning had just gone up!

In another part of the room Gibbs and Ducky were standing in front of a canvas pained a pale blue. Ducky looked rather proud of it and Gibbs smiled when he saw the title,

“'Duck egg blue'. Self-portrait, Duck”?

Dr Mallard smiled enigmatically.

“Have you worked out which is Ziva's yet?”

Gibbs nodded towards a collage on the far wall.

“Think it's that one. Don't know anyone else would find a use for spent cartridges.”

“She does police her brass well, doesn't she?”

The two friends laughed and walked around the room to look at the other exhibits. They came to a halt in front of a watercolour. Painted almost entirely in shades of green with an occasional shot of yellow, it was a skilfully painted picture of a woodland glade as dawn broke. Gibbs and Ducky gazed at it in silence for a few minutes.

“Oh my,” said Ducky, “that's rather fine, isn't it? We have an artist in our midst.”

Gibbs nodded in agreement. At that moment Abby came teetering over.

“Isn't it great? Normally I would have liked a bit more red and black but it's kinda soothing. Everyone's put a bid on it.”

DiNozzo joined the group.

“Hmmm, it's not bad. I think I prefer A vOiD 4 though”.

Abby hit him on the arm and Gibbs directed a glare at him. Tony just quirked an eyebrow back at him but before he could say anything Director Vance called for everyone's attention.

“I'd like to thank everyone who has contributed to this first exhibition. I'd especially like to commend the unexpected enthusiasm shown by the Major Case Response Team and their 100% turnout. I'd also like to thank Special agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs for agreeing, as his contribution, to make a frame for the winning exhibit. It's been interesting not only to see the entries but also to hear some of the comments being made about them. I'm thinking of recommending to SecNav that we introduce mandatory art appreciation classes at FLETC”. He paused and waited expectantly for a ripple of amusement at a rare directorial joke.

“I'm also grateful to Dr Rachel Cranston for agreeing to be a neutral curator of the exhibition. Dr Cranston has also been looking after the sealed bids which have been made by people wishing to buy the exhibits – that money, as well as the entry fees, will be going to the NCIS Benevolent Fund. SecNav chose a winner earlier on this afternoon. He wanted to be here himself to make the announcement but he was called away to the White House so I'm going to ask Special Agent Gibbs to make the announcement of the winner.”

He handed Gibbs an envelope. Gibbs, reluctantly, put on his reading glasses and opened the envelope. He smiled when he saw what was inside.

“SecNav has chosen an outright winner and also wants to make special mention of another entry. I'm going to announce the title of those two entries and then ask the artists, whose names I don't know, to go and stand beside their paintings. The winner of the prize for best exhibit in the inaugural NCIS Art Exhibition goes to the painter of 'Greenshades’. “Gibbs pointed to the delicate watercolour. There was a round of applause.  
“SecNav's special mention goes to 'A vOiD 4' for its daring and er… dynamism”. A cheer was heard to come from DiNozzo and vigorous clapping. McGee sighed.

“Now, please, will the artists in question go and stand by their paintings.”

There was a moment of stillness as everyone waited to see who the winners were. DiNozzo walked up to 'A vOiD 4' and paused there. Then he moved away and went to stand, with an embarrassed look on his face, beside 'Greenshades'. And then, to everyone's amazement, and McGee's complete chagrin, Director Vance went and stood beside 'A vOid 4'.

The room was suddenly filled with cheers and laughter. Dr Cranston called over the noise,

“Everyone. I'm very pleased to tell you that we've raised $14342 for the Benevolent Fund. Lots of bids on the exhibits. The highest bid was $1000 for 'Greenshades' and I can tell you that there was a bid of $250 for 'A vOiD 4'”.  
Special Agent DiNozzo found himself the centre of much admiration. With Gibbs's gaze on him, he felt compelled to turn down all the offers to be his model should he wish to move on to painting from life.

Afterwards, in the bullpen, his team gathered around him.

“Why didn't you tell us you can paint?” asked Abby.

“I haven't painted for a while. You remember when Ziva and I went to Paris?”

Knowing nods and nudges confirmed that everyone remembered and had their own views of what had happened on that trip.

“The witness we were escorting told me that my photos all looked like crime scene photos and well, that hurt. But I didn't think the Boss would like it if I started making my crime scene photos all fuzzy round the edges and artistic ...”

“Damn straight.”

“But I thought that, as I'm a crime scene sketch expert, I must be pretty good at drawing so perhaps painting would be something I could try without compromising my work. And so I did,” Tony shuffled in embarrassment, “and er ... actually found it quite relaxing.”

“Why did you let me think you'd painted that other monstrosity?” asked McGee.

“I didn't really McMistake. You jumped to that conclusion all on your ownsome. Don't worry, I'm sure the Director will come round eventually.”

“Yeah, sure, after he's sent me to FLETC for art appreciation classes.”

“I think it will be sooner than that McFidget. When he finds out that you bid $250 for 'A vOid 4' I'm sure he'll be a fan again. And it'll fit real well with your decor.”

McGee opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. He realised that Tony had fixed things perfectly. And he was surprised to realise that he didn't mind that Tony had turned out to be the artist he was ... somehow it was reassuring to find that Tony still had hidden depths to be discovered.

A little later, Gibbs and Tony were alone in the bullpen.

“So, painting's relaxing is it, DiNozzo?”

“Sure, Boss, a bit like building a boat in the basement. Lots of hot women in my painting class too ... it's all good”.

“Hmmm ... and it wasn't recommended by your 'therapist'?”

“How did you know that, Boss?”

Gibbs just gave an enigmatic smile.

“So, who's the lucky person who gets one of your frames on 'Greenshades'?”

“That'd be me.”


	2. Chapter 2

There were times that Tony regretted entering, and winning, the NCIS Art Exhibition. Yes, it had been surprisingly fulfilling to have won first prize although he had tried not to be disappointed that nobody had expected that he could be the accomplished painter of 'Greenshades'. Yes, it had been gratifying to see the look of respect in Director Vance's eyes although it also meant that the director had exhibited a wish to discuss art with him. Tony had soon developed a tendency to sneak in and out of the office rather than making his customary 'entrances.' Still, he mused, acquiring stealth skills was probably useful in his line of work although he could never hope to be Gibbs' equal in surprise appearances.

All in all, he decided that, up until today the results had been positive on the whole. He had become the acknowledged 'art expert' in the agency or, at least, the floor on which he worked; he suspected that Ducky was probably the real expert as he seemed to know something about everything, however obscure. He had enough ego to try and make good on his rather suspect status as art expert so had signed up for an art history course run by the tutor of his art class. He had been surprised to discover, however, that he already knew quite a lot about art.

As a rather lonely boy in New York during vacations where his father had forgotten about him, and also forgot to leave him any allowance, the young Tony had spent quite a lot of time going round free museums and art galleries. He would have preferred to be going to watch movies but lack of money put paid to that. So he made do with still pictures. He quite liked looking at battle pictures and scenes from Greek and Roman mythology although he was still of an age to blush a bit at the brazen nudity of some of their characters. He liked to puzzle out the Picassos but the Surrealists looked like nightmares to him and disturbed his sleep. He liked the Turner and Constable pictures which showed classic English land and seascapes because he liked to picture his mother's childhood in that country. He also liked the detailed Canaletto pictures of Italy particularly those of St Mark's Square in Venice – they brought back happy memories of a visit he and his mom had paid there. If he looked hard enough he thought he could work out the location of the little café where they had sat when his mom had got tired. It is perhaps not surprising that he had marched determinedly past the pictures of cosy family scenes where everyone seemed to be gazing contentedly at one another.

So, it turned out that he knew quite a bit about art or, at least, he knew about a lot of paintings. This had an unexpected bonus in that a couple of rather attractive fellow students decided that his mixture of brawn, brains and charm were an attractive mix. He was looking forward to the next class...

His 'art knowledge' had also assisted in the breaking of a case recently. The house of a retired admiral, who also happened to be a friend of SecNav had been robbed and an inside job was suspected. The team had been sent to investigate. It turned out that the house was being re-modelled so various contractors had been there over a number of weeks and they seemed to be the most likely suspects. The Admiral was a keen art collector and had been having his collection catalogued for insurance purposes. With his new found status as art connoisseur still quite shiny, Tony had been dispatched to look at pictures to see if anything was amiss – he had looked at the paintings and then what the unfinished catalogue showed. He had looked at the catalogue, then at the paintings and smiled.

A couple of hours later he had arrived back at the squad room to find the rest of the team looking frustrated after an afternoon of interviewing a dozen blameless workmen, the admiral's large family, his gardener, his cook, his housekeeper and mailman. They were now engaged in running background checks on everyone.

“Hey, Boss and children ... I think I've found something. I think it's the ...”

“Do not say 'wife',” groaned McGee. “She has a rock solid alibi.”

“But which wife do you mean, McGeologist. The admiral has been married three times.”

“That is impossible, Tony,” said Ziva with something of a panicked expression on her face, “McGee and I have spent all afternoon researching the admiral and found nothing about other wives.”

“Relax, I jest,” said Tony, “it was Marshall McNally.”

“The guy doing the inventory of the paintings?” queried Gibbs.

“The very same ... off with convenient stomach flu for two days. I mean, who would go and check on that alibi?”

“I would,” said Abby as she arrived up from her lab.

“That is true, Abs, but that is because you are a sweet and kind person,” agreed Tony.

“And Gibbs came to see you when you had stomach flu,” pointed out Abby.

“Again true, but what germ would possibly dare to attack the Boss? But anyway, we digress. It was McNally, Boss,”

“How do you know?” asked McGee.

“Simple,” said Tony with a touch of pride, “and it wasn't even good old fashioned police work. McNally made a mistake – he catalogued a picture as the martyrdom of St Stephen but it was clearly the martyrdom of St Lawrence.”

“And you know this, how?” asked Ziva.

“The rather gruesome picture had a saint being barbecued on a griddle ... that was St Lawrence. St Stephen was stoned.”

Everyone looked impressed.

“Guess that art knowledge is coming in useful, DiNozzo,” praised Gibbs.

“Actually, Boss, it was pure serendipity. Religious Knowledge classes at boarding school - boys are a bit bloodthirsty and we liked making the teacher go into all the gory details about saints. Brightened many a long, otherwise boring, class. 

Aahh, happy memories.”

Afterwards he reflected that, even better than solving the case, even better than Vance's pleasure at the case being solved, better than all of that, was the look on Tim's face when he realised that Tony knew what 'serendipity' meant.

So, all in all, the 'artist' bit had been good for him. Until today, when Gibbs had decided that he should use Tony's new found skills in a stakeout. At first Tony had been hopeful that he would be able to pose as a student at a 'life' class with an attractive young lady as the model – well, he hadn't really been hopeful, Gibbs would never have gone for that.

No, Gibbs' idea was that Tony could be a pavement artist and, out of deference for his Italian roots, he could draw the Mona Lisa in chalks. And so that was why Tony was sitting forlornly on the sidewalk, in the pouring rain, watching his picture gradually wash away. For some reason the enigmatic smile was the last to go. Over his earwig he could hear the subdued laughter of his co-workers He vowed never to let them discover his mad flower arranging skills garnered when he was a ... but, no, that's a another story (perhaps).


	3. Chapter 3

Tony could never decide afterwards if it was a good thing he had brought to mind his 'mad flower arranging skills'. Like so many things in his life it had both good and bad aspects. If he had only known, he might have got some comfort from knowing that his experiences had got McGee and Gibbs worried too.

On the plus side, his mad skills  **had**  got him and McGee out of a tricky spot...

The team was running surveillance on a particularly unpleasant crime boss, Hilton Sinclair, who was believed to be responsible for a scam involving weapons for the US Navy. The scam had led to inferior weapons being supplied to the Navy and had put lives at risk. Gibbs had been particularly angry about it and was almost back in Captain Ahab mood. The whole team had been trying to find ways to eavesdrop on Sinclair but had been baffled because he was generally reclusive and secretive and technically savvy enough to block electronic listening devices. Not surprisingly, it was Tony who found a possible way in when he was idly reading the social diary pages of a Washington newspaper.

“Hey, isn't Glover Dupont one of Sinclair's friends?” he asked of nobody in particular.

“Almost his only one,” said Ziva, “why?”

“Dupont's daughter is getting married at the Rosenberg Hotel on Saturday.”

“So,” asked McGee, “how does that help us?”

Tony and Gibbs exchanged glances and then joined forces to stare/glare at Tim. Tim thought desperately for a few moments and then got the point.

“So Sinclair will probably go to the wedding”, he said.

“Almost definitely, I would think,” offered Ziva, “as it appears that Daphne-Daisy Dupont is Sinclair's goddaughter.”

“Daphne-Daisy Dupont,” mused Tony, “poor kid.”

“Her father's three trillion dollar fortune may make up for it,” said McGee pragmatically. Tony didn't reply but shrugged his shoulders in a way that suggested that the fortune might not heal all wounds. Gibbs cut through the chatter,

“OK, McGee get together with Abby to work out the best way to get eyes and ears into the hotel. You and DiNozzo will go in early on Saturday morning to set it all up.”

Over the next couple of days the team decided that the best place to bug would be the large room in which the wedding itself was to take place. It was not clear that Sinclair would hang around for all the festivities but it did seem certain that he would turn up for the ceremony.

So very early on Saturday morning Tim and Tony, wearing hotel coveralls, were in the function room setting up the listening devices and linking into the hotel's existing security cameras. They had just about finished when six burly guys arrived, they were smartly dressed in suits but somehow the agents didn't think they were early arrivals to the wedding. As they took a closer look Tony and Tim recognised at least two of them as 'associates' aka enforcers in Sinclair's empire.

“What you doing here?” asked one of the new arrivals looking suspiciously at McGee's small holdall.

McGee looked at Tony who appeared to be taking a calm and measuring look at the enforcers.

“My co-worker Terrence and I are here to do the flowers,” and he pointed at the buckets of cut flowers standing in a corner.

“You don't look like flower arrangers,” said one of Sinclair's men who Tim now recognised as Joe Kramer.

“I'm not sure what a flower arranger is supposed to look like,” said Tony with a hint of hauteur, “but I am one. Actually this is Terrence's first day ... I'm going to show him the ropes. A favour for his father who's a bit worried that his only son hasn't found his way in life yet.”

“And he thinks that Terrence learning flower arranging will solve the problem?” asked Kramer doubtfully.

“It's just a stepping stone,” said Tony, “I'm really into interior designing but flower arranging brings in a little extra cash.”

“Go on, then,” said one of Kramer's companions in a menacing tone, 'let's see you flower arrange.”

McGee was grateful for Tony giving him an excuse for looking at a loss but he couldn't see what Tony's plan was. It turned out to be deceptively simple ... Tony started to make a centre piece for the top table.

“Pass me that piece of oasis, Terry – you don't mind if I call you Terry, do you?” As 'Terry' hesitated, Tony said in a kind and patient voice,

“It's that green lump of foam. Then hand me six delphiniums ... the tall blue flowers.” Tony proceeded to fix them in place and then added white roses and gardenias and some silvery foliage. He stepped back to admire the effect and then tweaked a few stems until he was satisfied. He then picked up the arrangement and said,

“Could one of you put this on that table at the top, do you think?” Kramer was clearly fascinated and called to one of his team,

“Oi, Barrow ... come and help with this.”

And so it continued for the next hour. Tony continuing to make amazing flower arrangements and even letting 'Terry' put a few stems in. Gradually Sinclair's heavies had all become involved and gladly leapt to help in putting the arrangements where Tony directed. At last, there were just a few small flowers left and Tim hoped that the ordeal would soon be over and they could leave. He reckoned without Tony's sense of what was fitting. He proceed to make six boutonnieres for his new friends and presented them with a flourish. The heavies were enchanted and put them in their buttonholes and sniffed them appreciatively. They helped Tony and 'Terry' to pack up and waved them a fond farewell.

“Phew,” gasped Tim, “that was ... er ... different. If only we'd known in advance I could have slipped a bug into those flower things.”

“'Boutonnieres', said Tony, a little coldly, “and I did plant a bug ... why did you think I dropped that jug of water and had you all mopping up?”

“Oh,” said Tim, beginning to be impressed, “why did you call me Terry and tell that story about my dad?”

“That's one of the stories I have ready for this sort of scenario, makes it easier to have something in mind already.”

“You have a story ready in which I'm a bit of a slow idiot?”, asked Tim surprised to find out that his sense of relief outweighed any sense of outrage.

“It worked, didn't it?” asked Tony. And that was unanswerable. Tim decided that another question might not be.

“So, flower arranging. How did that happen?” Tony looked a bit embarrassed,

“My parents' housekeeper did all the flower arranging and let's just say that I used to spend a lot of time with her and I sort of picked it up. And it helped me pay a few bills in college. Come on McDaisy, let's back to Gibbs.” And he sneezed.

He didn't stop sneezing all the way back to the squad room – he'd left the lilies to last but they had had a devastating effect on him. Gibbs got tired of it in the end and sent him down to Ducky for a hay fever pill. Despite the sneezing, Tony thought that this had all gone well. The heavies had kept their boutonnieres in all day and they had picked up useful information about their boss's activities. A few days later NCIS swooped and arrested them all. The look of betrayal on Kramer's face when he recognised Tim and Tony kept Gibbs happy for hours and Captain Ahab was put back in his box. So, all in all, at this stage Tony was pretty happy that another of his mad skills had been made known and, after all, it was unlikely that they would be needed again. Alas, he had reckoned without Abby.

Abby, it turned out, had been watching Tony at work through the hotel security camera and had been entranced. She had also smiled a smile which would have made Tony's blood run cold if he had seen it.

Two days after the arrersts, Abby sweetly asked Tony to come down to her lair and he, innocently, went.

“Hey, Abs”, he called out.

“Tony, Tony,” squealed Abby and gave him a hug.

“What you want, Abby?”

“Well ...,”said Abby in a tone of voice that made Tony wish he could make for the door. He had his pride, however, and stood firm.

“You see, the Bishop is coming to pay a visit to the nuns. It's very important to them, they want to give him a good welcome.”

“Ye...eess”, said Tony wondering where he came in, “not sure the DiNozzo charm works on bishops, Abs. I'm guessing it's not a lady bishop?” Abby shook her head.

“He's visiting the Sisters of St Joseph the Worker as well as my nuns.”

Light began to dawn a little. Tony knew that there was a fierce, if refined, rivalry between 'Abby's nuns', the Sisters of Mercy, and the Sisters of St Joseph. Bowling night between the two was not for the fainthearted. He knew from listening to Abby that St Joseph's was held to have the better choir, Mercy to have the better bakers. The shininess of the brass was always too close to call and the tandem racing was still in its infancy. He still didn't see where he came in.

“Sister Rosita was very upset last night,” Tony wisely kept silent and started calculating an escape route, “because Sister Esmerelda is just getting too old.” And Abby sighed. Against his better judgement Tony found himself asking,

“Too old for what?”

“For doing the church's flowers,” Abby moved between Tony and the door and fixed him with a soulful gaze. Her eyes had never looked so big. Tony felt he could drown in them. He pulled himself together, sort of,

“But Abs, my hay fever ... I've only just stopped sneezing from the lilies. Think about my lungs,” he added pathetically. Abby brandished a paper bag triumphantly,

“Ducky's prescribed some medicine for you and there are some masks here you can wear.”

“But I've never done church flowers before ... I wouldn't know where to start.”

“Anthony DiNozzo, do you mean to stand there and say that you won't help those sweet, gentle nuns?” Tony remembered the mayhem that had been the last bowling night when there had been a disputed strike and wanted to correct Abby's description. He opened his mouth to make his further protest but Abby got there first,

“Those  **sweet gentle** nuns who prayed all night when you had the plague, who lit candles for you when you were agent afloat, who ...”

“All right, Abs, I'll do it,” said Tony admitting defeat, “but McGee showed great promise the other day, I want him to help too.”

Which was why Tim and Tony spent an exhausting and scary night under Sister Rosita's direction filling every vase, covering every flat surface with flowers and foliage. They, or rather Tony, scaled high ladders to decorate the pillars and columns, they crawled under seats and pews to drape them with greenery ... and they both sneezed nonstop. Sister Rosita, Sister Esmerelda, Abby and the other sisters gave them a hearty round of applause at the end and then gave a distinctly triumphant series of high fives.

“That'll show'em”, said Sister Rosita.

Even then, Tony was still inclined to think that the flower arranging skills hadn't been entirely a bad thing. Yes he was still sneezing and a bit dopey from the drugs but the criminals were behind bars and Abby's nuns would surely be praying for him. He was surprised, therefore, to find Abby rather disconsolate the next day. He tried to cheer her up,

“Hi, Abs, how did the bish go yesterday? Did he like the flowers?” Abby sighed,

“No, it turns out he's even more allergic than you and Timmy – he sneezed the whole time and while he was sneezing he walked into that flower hippopotamus and it fell on him and broke his glasses.”

“So, not a success then?”

“No.”

“I'm guessing the nuns are a bit peeved.”

“Yes.”

“No more candles being lit for me?

“No.”

“I'd better be going then.”

“Yes.”

But that night, Tony went to sleep in a generally contented frame of mind ... at least he had stopped sneezing.

Elsewhere in Washington, however, others of the team were less contented. They had seen the dangers of hidden mad skills coming to the surface. Tim looked around his apartment and realised that he had to make a break with his past. He had gathered all his knitting needles, the hideously complicated Aran and Fairisle patterns he loved so much, and packaged them up to send to his mom who would look after them until a safer time. He sighed, but knew it was for the best.

In his basement, Gibbs had also had to confront his demons and recognised that something had to go. He picked up his precious collection and dumped them in the trash – it was collection day tomorrow and the temptation would then be gone.

Shortly afterwards, Ziva arrived to drop some paperwork in. As she left, she noticed something small and shiny on the ground by the bin. She picked it up and ran her fingers over it appreciatively ... hmmm, she had never considered the offensive and intimidatory potential of a crochet hook before – it would make an amusing change from a paper clip.

 

 


End file.
